It was over. He knew it. No matter who would win in the end. For him everything was lost. He looked out from the window of his cell. Outside the sky was cloudy and grey, like everything else on that damned island. No light ever shone there.

"Draco where are you?"

The thought of his only son filled him with pain. He knew his beloved child had failed the task assigned to him by the Dark Lord. And he knew Draco was somewhere outside there. Always on the run. Scared to death. Or maybe he was buried somewhere , dead from a long time.

This final thought almost made him pass out. No it couldn't be. His Draco, his beautiful little dragon. He was still young. He still had many many years to live. He would become a man, better than his father for sure, he would marry a woman, muggle or witch he didn't care.

"Blood is not important, only life matters"

That was what he wanted to tell his son. What he should have told him years before , before it was too late. Only that he hadn't realized it in time. He had wasted all his years chasing a stupid ideal. The one of a pure race of wizards and witches. Life was beautiful the way it was, even if it was not perfect. That's what he should have told his son. He had to tell it to his son.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Strange suicide in Azkaban.

Yesterday at 4 a.m. 37 years old Lucius Malfoy was found dead in his cell. He apparently had committed suicide during the night by cutting his veins with his own nails and teeth. A strange sentence was written on the wall with blood. It said : "Blood is not important, only life matters"."

Draco shut the newspaper closed. He felt like he could faint every moment. His father dead! Why had he done such an insane thing? Had he waited a while, he would have come to rescue him. Or if not someone would have come for sure.

"Blood is not important, only life matters"

That funny sentence kept racing trough his mind. What did it mean? Did it mean that what his father had always told him was a lie? That it was all useless? All the fighting, the killing, the running?

Running. How long had he been on the run? Almost six months. Where had all his friends, his games, his jokes gone? And what about his school? And Quidditch?

The eyes of his mother appeared to him in his mind. How was she? How could she feel in this moment? What was she thinking?

All of a sudden he felt like is present life was an empty box. Everything going on around him seemed part of a silly useless movie, which would have left him nothing but a sort smile.

He opened the newspaper again.

"The burial of Mr. Malfoy will take place on Monday"

He looked up. He stretched out his hand, holding his wand. A purple bus emerged from nowhere. The Night bus. A tall slim boy welcomed him on board.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Cornwall…..back to life"